Dust. In my mouth, in my nose, in my eyes. And then the pain comes. Everywhere, almost all consuming. Throbbing, aching, stabbing. The nothingness is gone. Everything registers in grotesque detail, my arm twisted at some odd angle, the blood dripping in my eyes, the chaos everywhere. In me, around me, in everything. All around me silence reigns amid the screams. The silenced screams. The earsplitting screams. Bright blue dots of the silent noise dance in my already pain tinted vision. I can't get the dust out of my mouth, the taste of despair. 

Ms. Wyn. She's no longer next to me. All that is near me is rubble. Evidence of what was once great, crumbled to the ground by whatever this is. Whatever this was. The blue is clearing from my vision, leaving only scarlet behind. The pain is everywhere inside of me, yet there is more hanging in the air. People were here. Now those people are somewhere else. Under rubble? Far above us? Far below us? No where at all? But the ones who remain, the unlucky ones, someone has to save them. It's my turn to be a hero.

Except I'm young and I'm female and I'm 4"10. I've never let those things stop me before and I don't have time to let them start today. There's to much at stake. Lives. Even if I'm hurt, which I am, I have to help these people. It doesn't seem like anyone else is coming, somebody has to be a hero. It seems that today it is truly my day to be a hero.

Once I've decided that I need to help whoever else is here the next monumental task begins. Because I can't stand. Actually, that isn't true. I can't move at all. Which is bad, because there is very little I can do laying helpless on the ground, a damsel in distress. I've never needed rescuing before and would rather not start a new trend. All those mornings pulling myself out of bed, all the huge smiles plastered on my face, all the laughs that sounded so real, all these things make this look like a walk in the park. Seven times down, eight times up. If you fall you have to stand, otherwise you'll never get up. When you're down people walk on you, which pushes you farther and farther down. So the longer you're down the harder it'll be to get up and the easier it's be to go down a few more feet to six.

So I have to stand. My body has to move. I have to swallow my pain. I have to ignore the red screaming for attention. Up up up. Pain is a message. Refuse to hear it. It will come eventually, demand to be fussed over. Not now though. Right now it's mind over matter. Over time I've learned that you can ignore just about anything if you try hard enough, push it away, push it back, allow it no foot-hold in your brain. Then you just have to focus on something else, work on it non-stop, take on fifteen more things than you have time for. Then add a couple more, until you have no time to do any thinking at all, except for the thinking you have to do to complete your assigned task. No matter how smart you are your brain can only do so much at once. Right now my brain needs to put everything towards standing a searching and saving. So there is no time to think. No time to feel. Inside me there is nothing except my goal, saving them. What pain?

And so, by some miracle, I'm standing. The destruction is clearer now, or as clear as destruction can be. The giant flying machines fell spectacularly, all three of them. Down onto the city, into us. I don't know why Captain America let them to fall on the city, but he was saving us from a worse fate. Because he's a hero. That's what heroes do, they save people, but they also try to save the most people. A hero sometimes has to make a tough call, that's what happened today. Now all of us have to be heroes as well. We have to be our own heroes and we have to be heroes to other.

Up, forward, picking through the rubble. Trying to find something, anything, I recognize. The whole block has been hit though. It looks like the pictures of the Blitz we saw in history, we didn't get a warning, there was no siren, no anti-aircraft guns. Only the reign of terror. All that needs to be blocked out, all I can focus on are the sounds. Where were the screams coming from? Where is there groaning? Where is there any sign of life?

At first there is nothing, only the terrifying cloud of death, the stillness of tragedy. Until finally, at long last, I hear something. A faint moan, somewhere to my left. The debris is thicker here. It's harder to walk through. When I trip pain shoots up my spine, no matter how I try and ignore it. Keep going. Forward, ever forward, ever onward. Find the person. Save them. Shock wants to set in, it's gnawing at me. I can't let it. Not while people are trapped, not while lives are at stake.  

And then I see her. She's young, only five or six, and hurt badly. Not moving, not making a sound. She's not the one I heard, but still injured. Still someone to save. The rocks around her are stained with drying blood, a grotesque collage or reds and blacks and browns, of brush stokes and splatters and globs. Stomach heaving at the sight of her ruined face, at the smell of it hanging in the air. Vomit and blood and despair. My hand reaches out, against my will, towards the un-moving girl. Fingertips brushing her bloodstained shoulder. She's dead. There's no pulse, there's no saving her. Nothing I can do. Hopelessness sweeps over me, tries to knock me off my feet. I won't let it though. Instead I stand, lift my chin, and keep walking.  I don't look back.

The groaning is louder here, whoever it is must be practically right next to me. Still I don't see anyone. Only destruction. Desolation. Despair. All spinning in a vortex of color. It takes me a minute to clear them from my vision, stop them from blocking my sight. When I blink them away I see him, legs stuck under fallen debris, sharp metal digging into him, pinning him in place. Another groan of pain escapes his cracked lips. It looks as though he's been through a war, now though, it seems like we all have. This man I can save. To this man I can be a hero. 

First though, I have to save him. I'd move the debris in a heart beat. The only problem is I'm once again hindered by my size. I'm tiny, weak, un-suited for this task. Someone has to do it though, someone has to save him and nobody else is coming. And so I pull. I push. I drag. I  ignore his screams of pain, because trapped he might never be found again, freed I can get his to help. A metal rod pierces his leg, the mans shrieks filling the air. But he's free.

"Alright, we've got to get you to a hospital. Can you stand?" I ask the man, stooping to look him in the eye.

"If I have to." His voice is rough, pained. If I had any other options I would take them, but I can't lift this man. Him walking is our only option.

"You're going to have to. You can grab my hand and use that to pull yourself up." I point to a large piece of concrete that lay next to him. The man grimaces but slowly reaches for my hand. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he pulls himself to his feet, sweat dripping off this forehead.

"What's your name?" He gives me a curious look, trying to mask his pain.

"Jocelyn. Yours?" I need to keep him talking, distracted.

"Jack." He mutters, wincing as his leg is jarred awkwardly on the pavement.

"Okay Jack, I'm going to get you to where ever all this ends and get you a doctor, alright?" It isn't really a question, only words to fill the silence.

"No!" He almost shouts, panic in his eyes, "I don't need a doctor. My cousin is a doctor, he'll get me fixed up."

"That's ridiculous. You need a doctor now, not when your cousin shows up." Voice firm, back ramrod straight, to my maximum height. 

"I don't like doctors, alright?" His voice is pained, this isn't something he likes telling people. Jack is hurt, outside and in. If I'm saving him I can't just save one part, just the part that shows. Because just because it isn't bleeding doesn't mean it isn't hurt. My whole life that's been the way it's been, "If it's not bleeding it's fine." Everything is always fine, perfectly fine. And that's fine. Because it has to be fine. 

This time though it's my decision, my choice, to see beyond the physical blood and into the metaphorical blood. My choice to let someone be ruled by their fear. But sometimes our fear has to rule us, sometimes we've used up all our strength fighting the fears we have to. Then all we can do is give into the foolish fears, the fears we should be able to fight, the fears that if we don't fight it doesn't really matter because we fought the fears that counted. 

The rubble is becoming less and less, the city more intact. I need to make a decision, to let Jack go or to force him to take help. In all honesty I already know what I'm going to do.

"Fine. You can go to your cousin, but I'm calling you a taxi." I give him a glare, "That's my final offer and if you don't like it you can go into that ambulance." I point to the medical tent that has come into view. A slew of photographers and reporters start shouting as they see us, rushing forward, microphones in hand. Disoriented I spin, trying to stay upright in the chaos. 

By the time I calm down Jack is gone.